


Eldritch Horror

by RAAMIsABeast



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Eldritch, Hannibal Lecter is the Chesapeake Ripper, M/M, Minor Character Death, Moving Tattoo(s), POV Hannibal Lecter, Tentacles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-04
Updated: 2020-04-04
Packaged: 2021-03-01 10:00:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,232
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23469553
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RAAMIsABeast/pseuds/RAAMIsABeast
Summary: "You woke me again, Hannibal.""I have to check your bandages.""Later."He whines, high and placating, baring his tempting throat with the ease of someone who wasn't scared of having their throat ripped out by an apex predator. Arrogant, almost, like he could have Hannibal swoon and bend to his will. For now, Hannibal allows this distraction, admiring the curving black tail inked expertly into his flesh."You are a fox.""Sly and beautiful?"He smirks softly, leaning forward to brush his taut neck against Hannibal's chin in teasing submission."A menace."
Relationships: Hannibal Lecter/Original Male Character(s)
Kudos: 18





	Eldritch Horror

**Author's Note:**

> Hannibal is very likely to be out of character, so I'm sorry about that!
> 
> I had real fun writing this, and might even end up writing a sequel~

Waking up in the early hours of the morning, just before the sun started it's daily rise in earnest, Hannibal feels the warmth radiating from the other person in his bed, tucked into his back. Twin arms are curled over his waist, hands splayed almost possessively over his stomach.

The almost being key, for, while neither of them seem to have anything on the side, they'd never agreed to be exclusive to one another. Just a one night stand that slipped into more satisfying nights. Speaking of which, the doctor should check that his lover hasn't disturbed the bandages on his thighs over night. It is probable that he has, because he likes to be left aching.

Rolling over in the prison of arms is easy, but actually removing them is another task altogether.

"Morning."

A yawn just bordering on rude exhales out in the quiet wake of the younger man waking.

"You woke me again, Hannibal."

"I have to check your bandages."

"Later."

He whines, high and placating, baring his tempting throat with the ease of someone who wasn't scared of having their throat ripped out by an apex predator. Arrogant, almost, like he could have Hannibal swoon and bend to his will. For now, Hannibal allows this distraction, admiring the curving black tail inked expertly into his flesh.

"You are a fox."

"Sly and beautiful?"

He smirks softly, leaning forward to brush his taut neck against Hannibal's chin in teasing submission.

"A menace."

He cut off the other's mock anger with a sharp nip to his pulse point, grinning smugly as he moans at the threat of a harder bite.

"Hannibal..."

"Ninah."

Hands smooth down his chest, and the doctor has a feeling he would be fighting to get out of bed unless he sates the bout of want permeating Ninah's sweet scent. Finding himself not adverse to the soft possessiveness Ninah trails down his body, Hannibal decides today would be the day he is bold and possessive in return.

***

After the morning routine of washing one another down in the shower, and dressing, Hannibal joins Ninah in the kitchen. The younger man has his torso free of clothing, baring the beginnings of both tattoos he adorned before Hannibal. Quite high on his back, perhaps in the locus of the the last true rib's fusion to the spine, four ebony tentacles emerge from a mahogany rift in pale, European white skin. British, if Hannibal places his accent well.

Each tentacle curves around each limb like lovers tangled in bed, affectionate and intimate.

Below, spewing out from a larger, more ragged mahogany entrance, a thick, darkened and spiny tail arises. Similar in look to the spine of a starved dog, but much more deadly, the appendage confidently curls through the mass of tentacles to curve proprietorially over his vulnerable throat. It doubles back three quarters of the way to curl up along a cheek bone and rest the serpentine bladed tip just under his right eye.

"You always stare at them, Hannibal, but you never ask."

He flicks his maroon eyes up to meet olive ones peering at him over a shoulder, the tip of the tail shimmering in the way tattoo ink does in the right light.

"I find their mystery is much more appealing than their knowledge."

He sidles up next to the other at the kitchen counter, noting only one mug of coffee, cradled in the other's hands. Ninah swallows half of the coffee into his throat while holding Hannibal's gaze, before offering it to him. A test. An easy one.

Perfectly brewed, as always, the coffee slips down smooth, if a little hot. And then pliant lips brush the older man's, a wet, coffee warmed tongue sliding easily into his waiting mouth. Coffee and Ninah caress his tastebuds, and for a second he entertains biting the other's tongue off to taste his blood in the mix too. That notion is discarded however, for that tongue is wickedly mobile and worth keeping off the menu.

They part for breath, half closed eyes peeking at one another. Hannibal basks in the morning sun and his lover's embrace, before pulling away more. He wants to see all of Ninah's reaction to his request.

"Will you allow me to introduce you to a few friends of mine, tonight?"

Pupils dilate a little, his content aroma overrun by slightly acidic nervousness. His scents were unlike anything else Hannibal has been privy to before, and he will not lie to himself about how heady some of the more pleasing scents are. Nervousness is not one of them. It stings a little, and inexplicably creates a feeling of wrongness settle at his breast.

Ninah hasn't answered yet. He wets his lips, eyes darting from Hannibal's penetrating gaze to settle at his tieless collar.

"Are you suggesting a claim to me, Hannibal? Or am I a trophy for you?"

He meets his gaze again, steeled and suspicious. To ask this question suggests he's been treated as a trophy more times than he will admit. A young, supple and beautiful man like him would make the perfect trophy to hang off a shallow, rich man's arm. But Hannibal isn't interested in trophies.

"I'm not suggesting anything. I'm requesting."

"Requesting... my permission for what?"

"A monopoly of your time and affections."

The sour scent dissipates, and the return of sweet contentment is appreciated. Ninah flushes, leans in and ravages Hannibal's mouth.

"Yes."

He breaths reverently, kissing Hannibal again to show his enthusiasm.

"Make it offical tonight."

He murmurs, pulling back to look Hannibal in the eye.

"I want you to bite me, tonight, when you climax, and draw blood. Please. It's the one thing you haven't done."

"And if I do more than that?"

"I have no issues with that."

He grins, crooked and pleasantly affectionate. For a moment, just a flicker of a second, Hannibal swears the bladed tip _wriggles_ like a cat's tail, before stilling again. He blinks.

"You know I'd let you do anything."

"Your tolerance is quite high."

Hannibal concedes, moving away from Ninah fully, watching him tilt his head. The tail does not move again, and Hannibal is curious. Perhaps it is merely a trick of the light, fooling his sight with glee.

"Tonight, after dinner and my public introduction of you, I'll make you mine in the way you and I desire."

"With blood."

Ninah relaxs against the counter, at ease.

"Yes, with blood."

"Now, I have patients to see. I shall return later to begin meal preparations."

"I'll be heading out, then. Home, I mean. For cleaner clothes."

As he says this, he dons the shirt he had been wearing when Hannibal had found him on a walk yesterday, a little streak of lichen from the tree they'd kissed against marring the expanse of dark grey. It smells, when Hannibal walks his lover to the door, of their mingled scents and the lingering touch of bark.

"Until tonight, Hannibal."

A soft, affectionate kiss this time.

"Have a pleasant day, Ninah."

***

Ninah doesn't return that evening, and he doesn't answer his phone either. Hannibal is... concerned. Alana had gently suggested that Ninah had become nervous and chickened out, but she doesn't know how confident he is, so he dismisses the notion.

"Perhaps he will join us later."

He allows himself a moment of yearning, but stands to start serving the meal he had prepared. Suddenly, his phone rings shrilly, startling Will. A glance shows Ninah's name dominating the screen.

He answers.

"Hannibal, sorry about this. I'm running rather... late, I know."

He sounds pained, panting and perhaps trembling.

"I don't think I can make it tonight. I'm really sorry."

"Where are you?"

"Its none of your concern."

"I'll come and get you, no matter the disarry you're in."

"There's no n-"

He cries out as bark splinters in the background, a gunshot cracking through the speaker.

"Ninah?"

"Don't come after me, please. They'll kill you."

The call ends and Hannibal nearly crushes it, letting it fall to rudely clatter on the table instead.

"I'm afraid Ninah is... in need of assistance."

"No shit. We heard the gun."

Will stands.

"He likes walks in forests."

Hannibal supplies, watches Jack and Alana stand too.

"Let's go to the nearest one, then."

"No. He won't be at any old one. Follow mg car."

The drive is frustrating and Hannibal nearly speeds multiple times. The others follow, and both Jack and Will have a gun. Usually, guns aren't something he uses to kill, but Ninah is in danger and a gun is quicker at saving him.

They reach Ninah's forest and there are two cars there, one of them being Ninah's old bit well loved Fiesta, shimmering grey and clean from dust and grime. The other is a corporate black car, perhaps of a hitman or something in that regard.

Another gunshot echos, and then a second, closer.

Up above, the moon offers faint light to see by, and Hannibal curses the lapse of preparation, for none of them have flashlights. With the commotion heading their way though, perhaps they don't need them.

Another, again, even closer. The barrel flash is just in the tree line now. Jack and Will are standing beside Hannibal, guns drawn and aimed towards the sound.

Someone runs out into the car park, not Ninah, but someone with a gun. They shoot again, terrified, and not watching their footing. A rogue branch trips them, and a sickly, mahogany tendril strikes from the darkness, impaling through the chest with precision. The heart is no doubt obliterated by the penetration, with blood gushing around the makeshift plug to drain off the tip.

"M-mon-ster..."

They choke out, gargling on their own blood, before their dying body is lifted effortlessly into the air. For a moment, they hang, and the world seems to hold its breath.

And then they are slammed into the gravel with crushing finality, ribs cracking and spine shattering.

Throughout this display of animalistic carnage, Hannibal can not help but deem it beautiful and mesmerising, even with the thought that Ninah is not human. He finds himself nonplussed by this discovery, finds himself craving to peel back Ninah's British skin and touching the beast prowling inside.

The tentacle retreats into the shadows, leaving Hannibal's company slack jawed and quaking. All of them stink of fear, and Hannibal doesn't care for that right now.

What he wants is in the trees, no doubt watching. Perhaps Ninah is sizing up Hannibal's companions. Perhaps he is sizing up Hannibal himself. Will he still allow himself to submit to the older man, even though he is no doubt superior in strength and destruction?

Not brutality, for his kill was quick. The King of brutality is still Hannibal, and for that he is glad. To see a monster is one thing, to still be the more ruthless monster is another.

"Hannibal, where are you going?!"

Jack breaks through his thoughts insistently, shouting like he could quell Hannibal's desires to know this horror.

"To find Ninah."

"There's a thing out there!"

"He won't hurt me."

It is Will this time who speaks.

"He's not in control right now, Hannibal. The kill was reactionary, and without human thoughts."

He doesn't listen. If Ninah kills him, Hannibal would only request that he watches the other eat his still eating heart while he dies.

He runs into the trees once he is close enough, wants to get away from the others so Ninah will come to him, will bare his true nature to Hannibal.

It happens when the psychiatrist reaches a river. He almost continues past it, but the other side holds a darkened, humanoid figure standing in the shadows. Four swirling ribbons clue him in as to who is stood there.

"Ninah."

"Hannibal."

His voice sounds darker in this form, rougher.

"Come to me."

Ninah doesn't move, other than to shake his head.

"Touch me."

Hannibal demands instead, sees the way Ninah wants to obey.

"You'll never want me again..."

"Let me prove you wrong."

His lover tenses, before crossing the small stream.

"Turn around, please."

The human does so, listening to the other come closer. A clawed hand touchs his back, tugs at the clothes.

"Hannibal..."

It's a whine, wanting and fearful of rejection. Despite the possible reaction, Hannibal turns to face him, notes that there is no height change, but he looks starved. The trees hide the moon and the shadows hide the intricate details of Ninah's body, but Hannibal doesn't care. He cups a rough, bumpy cheek and drags him into a kiss, bites his bottom lip and revels in his surprised pleasure.

"On your knees for me, darling."

Hannibal purrs, stroking through silken hair when he does so. He meets horns, and traces their outline. Four of them, two larger ones at each side, curved like a pincer, and two backward facing ones, sharp and without ornaments.

He drags his head to his groin, knows that's where his musk is strongest, and feels a wave of satisfaction as Ninah breathes him in, takes comfort in the familiar position and relaxes.

"Claim me, Hannibal."

He looks up with gleaming olive eyes and licks a shockingly red tongue over the other, wanting and desperate.

And who is Hannibal to deny himself a golden opportunity to bring his lover to the brink of life with pleasure and pain?


End file.
